Unique Gate [19]
1392 Words
This battle was a gamble.
But not for the Gate Boss. He was certain—Zenon held the key to their past.
For Zenon, however, there were no guarantees. The Gate Boss’s memories remained sealed, their truth locked away beyond reach.
The fight had reached its c****x.
Both warriors stood poised, their auras surging with raw power, distorting the battlefield around them.
No more holding back.
They were equals in strength, power, and intellect. And now, only one would claim victory.
The air between them crackled with energy, the weight of their clash pressing down on the battlefield like a storm ready to explode.
Zenon tightened his grip on his sword, his eyes locked onto the Gate Boss. He could feel it—this was the moment that would decide everything.
The Gate Boss smirked, his blood-forged weapon shifting once again, reshaping itself into a massive halberd. The crimson mist around him pulsed in sync with his movements, as if alive.
Then, without warning, they moved.
Zenon lunged first, his body vanishing in a blur of speed. His blade shimmered as he executed another Ghostblade technique—his strikes fast and relentless, a silver tempest aiming to carve through the shifting blood.
The Gate Boss countered instantly, swinging his halberd in a wide arc. The moment Zenon’s sword made contact, the weapon dissolved into liquid, wrapping around the blade like tendrils, aiming to entrap him.
But Zenon wasn’t caught off guard.
“Spatial Rift”
A distortion in space formed between them, severing the tendrils before they could take hold. He twisted mid-air, adjusting his angle, and slashed downward with a precision strike.
The Gate Boss reacted just as quickly—his blood weapon morphed into a towering wall, absorbing the impact, then shattered into thousands of razor-sharp shards that shot toward Zenon like a rain of blades.
Zenon dodged and parried with inhuman agility, his movements refined through years of battle. But he knew this fight couldn’t last forever. The Gate Boss had an endless supply of blood as long as his body endured, while Zenon had to conserve his mana carefully.
Which meant—he had to end this soon.
He gathered his power, his blade humming with an eerie silver light. If he couldn't break through by conventional means, he'd just have to tear the battlefield apart.
The Gate Boss chuckled, sensing the shift in energy. “That’s it… show me the strength that made you defy the impossible.”
Zenon exhaled, his expression unshaken.
“This ends now.”
With one final surge, the battlefield erupted in a storm of blood and steel.
The ground trembled as both warriors unleashed their full power. Zenon’s blade radiated a silver glow, the energy coiling around him like a raging storm. Opposite him, the Gate Boss's crimson aura thickened, the blood mist around him twisting violently, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
The Gate Boss smirked, gripping his morphing weapon. "Come, then. Let’s see if your blade can cut through the endless tide."
Zenon didn’t waste a second. He vanished, reappearing above the Gate Boss in a flash. His sword descended in a brutal arc, slicing through the air with incredible force.
[ Ghostblade Technique: Severing Tempest ]
A single s***h, yet its force created a dozen invisible cuts in its wake, tearing through the space between them.
The Gate Boss reacted instantly. His blood-forged weapon morphed into a colossal scythe, sweeping upward to counter the blow. The moment their weapons met, a deafening shockwave erupted, sending cracks racing across the battlefield.
But Zenon was already moving. Twisting his body mid-air, he struck again, this time from an unpredictable angle. His blade blurred, his strikes precise and unrelenting.
The Gate Boss grinned, keeping up with Zenon’s speed. His weapon constantly changed form—a spear to a whip, a whip to twin daggers, daggers to a massive cleaver—all shifting seamlessly as he met each of Zenon’s attacks head-on.
The clash intensified. Silver and crimson streaks painted the air as their strikes grew faster, more vicious. Zenon aimed for vital points, testing the limits of the Gate Boss’s regenerative abilities, while the Gate Boss countered with overwhelming versatility, using his liquid arsenal to block, trap, and retaliate in unpredictable ways.
Yet, Zenon noticed something—however subtly, however briefly—the Gate Boss’s reactions were slowing.
His regeneration was fast, but it wasn’t limitless.
"You’re stalling," Zenon muttered, his sword flashing forward.
The Gate Boss blocked the strike but took a step back. His grin remained, but there was a flicker of realization in his crimson eyes.
Zenon pressed his advantage. He unleashed another flurry of Ghostblade techniques, each strike forcing the Gate Boss to exert more of his blood to defend himself.
And then, he saw it—the opening he was waiting for.
The Gate Boss’s latest transformation wavered for just a moment. A split second, but for Zenon, that was enough.
He poured all his energy into his next strike.
“Ghostblade Technique: Abyssal Rend.”
A single, devastating s***h—one that cut not just through flesh but through the very essence of his opponent.
The moment Zenon's blade made contact, a deep rupture split across the Gate Boss’s chest, his blood failing to reform instantly. A heavy silence followed, the vampire staggering slightly as a deep crimson mist poured from his wound.
Zenon held his stance, his breathing steady despite the strain. “You said it yourself. Your blood is endless, but even you have a limit.”
The Gate Boss’s smirk faltered. His grip on his weapon tightened as he took a shaky breath. Then, instead of anger, he let out a chuckle—low and amused.
"Interesting… so you really might be the one who holds the key to the past."
Zenon's eyes narrowed. "The past… and the truth about the Seven Kings of Hell."
The Gate Boss froze.
For the first time since the fight began, the air around them shifted—not from battle, but from something deeper.
"You—" The Gate Boss’s voice was hoarse, his expression unreadable. Then, he let out a strained laugh. "So you’ve seen them too."
Zenon didn’t answer.
The vampire let out a heavy breath. His wounds weren’t healing as fast anymore. His form was still strong, but Zenon knew—he was running out of time.
"...Then let’s end this." The Gate Boss steadied himself, his weapon shifting into a final, monstrous form—a massive greatsword of condensed, crystallized blood, pulsating with raw energy.
Zenon stood firm, his grip on his sword steady, but his expression softened. A faint smile crossed his lips—not of triumph, but of understanding.
"Perhaps, we were never meant to be enemies," he murmured. His voice carried no malice, only quiet sympathy. "We’ve both been chasing answers in the dark… but you’ve suffered long enough. Let me take that burden from you."
The Gate Boss’s crimson eyes flickered with something unreadable—acceptance, regret, perhaps even gratitude. But there was no hesitation as he raised his crystallized greatsword for one final, decisive strike.
Zenon didn’t move. He didn’t need to.
With a calm breath, he unleashed his technique.
[Ghostblade Technique: Silent Dance]
A whirlwind of silver light erupted from his blade. It was not just an attack—it was a farewell. Swift and precise, his energy-infused slashes cut through every direction, each one imbued with purpose.
The moment the greatsword descended, it shattered. The crimson crystal splintered into nothingness, fragments dissolving into the air.
Zenon was already gone from his original position.
In the blink of an eye, he reappeared before the Gate Boss, his sword already piercing through his heart.
"Ghostblade Technique: Piercing Wind."
The final blow was delivered with grace, swift and unyielding.
The Gate Boss’s breath hitched, his body trembling as his strength drained away. He stared at Zenon—not in anger, not in defiance, but with something softer.
Zenon's eyes held emotion, a silent acknowledgment of the weight this man had carried for so long.
"...You should rest now." His voice was barely above a whisper.
The battlefield, once filled with blood and fury, now felt quiet.
And as the Gate Boss's body begand to slowly burn, a peaceful expression settled upon his face.
- Writer
